The next morning, Mika awoke from a restless sleep. After a hot shower and a change of clothes, she pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, grabbed her purse, and kissed Logan's head. The air still smelled faintly of rain. She couldn't shake the memory of the alley—of death so close she could taste it.
At work, the bar was already buzzing. A couple ordered a bottle of Red Rose champagne to-go. By 10:30, the regulars had arrived—and so had trouble. A group of bikers swaggered in, their laughter too loud, eyes lingering too long.
When two of them got into a shouting match, Mika stepped in.
"If you don't stop," she warned, hands on hips, "you're out."
One laughed. "What are you gonna do, sweetheart?"
Another leaned in, reeking of whiskey. "Come home with us. Solve the problem that way."
The door opened. Lex walked in.
He moved like smoke—graceful, silent. His dark hair tousled, blue eyes sharp. He sat at the bar, watching.
A biker grabbed Mika's wrist. She yanked back. Her boss had a strict no-contact rule. Hitting customers could get her fired.
"You got a boyfriend?" the man leered.
Lex stood. His presence shifted the room.
"She does."
He walked over, wrapping an arm around Mika, his chest brushing her back. His voice was velvet and steel. "Play along," he whispered.
Mika stiffened, then nodded.
"She's taken," Lex said, eyes locked with the bikers'. "Back off. Or we'll call security."
After a beat, the men grumbled, tossed bills on the table, and left.
Mika turned to him, breathless. "Thank you."
He smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Anytime."
And then he was gone.